


Imaginary Friend

by nitro147



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, based on some lovely art done by softcocoa on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitro147/pseuds/nitro147
Summary: Sock Sowachowski is assigned to haunt a young Jonathan Combs. That may be harder than it sounds when Jonathan starts striking up a friendship with his new spectral tormentor.





	Imaginary Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based on a piece of artwork done by softcocoa on tumblr, found here: http://softcocoa.tumblr.com/post/158342746395/you-know-how-some-kids-have-imaginary-friends-i  
> It's really fantastic work and you should check it out. I got inspired by it and had to put it into words and so that's why this little work is here!

_“And if I decline your offer?”_

_“You won’t.”_

_“Ha, well, I can’t argue with that!”_

               And that’s how Sock came to find himself standing in front of a playground in the middle of some random suburb. For a perfect summer afternoon, the park was unusually empty, with only a single child sitting on a swing. His legs pumped back and forth, pushing himself higher and higher until it looked as if he would fly into the sky and never come back. The chains creaked and squealed, piercing through the otherwise quiet daytime air. The lone kid was Jonathan Combs and it was Sock’s job to haunt him.

               Sock’s gaze was fixated on the kid. “Alright, how bad can this be? All you need to do is go up to him and introduce yourself. No big deal.” He held his arms tight against his side.

               While Sock stood in the middle of the road muttering a pep talk to himself, Jonathan took notice and began to stare at him. Sock perked up when he realized he was being watched. The two locked eyes, but neither took the initiative to do anything else. Sock swallowed hard, trying to will himself to say something, but failing to find any words. He forced a smile on to his face which, judging from Jonathan’s reaction, looked like it belonged to an axe murderer rather than a potential friend. Despite this, Jonathan must have decided that Sock wasn’t a threat, because he jumped from the swing as it peaked, sailed through the air, and landed on the sand below with a soft thud. Jonathan strolled across the park directly toward Sock, who felt more and more like he was having a harder time breathing (even without lungs). Jonathan stopped a few inches from Sock and craned his head up to look Sock in the eyes.

               Jonathan’s gaze softened, his eyes becoming big and round. He said, “Hi. My name’s Jonathan, what’s yours?”

               “My name? Well, most people just call me Sock.”

               “That’s a funny name,” Jonathan said. “Are you here to play?”

               “Uh… Actually, I’m a demon, and I’m here to haunt you,” Sock said. ‘ _That was terrible_ ,’ he thought.

               Jonathan stared at Sock a bit more, then said, “Cool. Do you want to come swing with me?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Sock by the hand and tugged him back over to the swing set. He pointed at an open swing and said, “You take that one.”

Sock stood in front of his assigned seat, arms held at his sides, as Jonathan climbed back into his own swing. Jonathan pushed himself into a long, sailing arc, and strained against the chains as if it would give him more momentum.

               “I’m trying to go all the way around,” Jonathan said. He looked down at Sock and frowned. “Hey, why aren’t you swinging?”

               Sock looked at the swing and said, “I don’t think I can… I mean, I haven’t tried.”

               “You don’t know how to swing?” Jonathan asked, letting his feet drag on the ground to bring him to a halt.

               “No, it’s not that. I just…” Sock said. He took a breath and moved to the swing, phasing through it.

               Jonathan’s eyes widened. “Woooah! You can go through things?”

               A nervous laugh escaped from Sock. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

               “Do it again! Go through… go through that tree!” Jonathan pointed at a large oak sitting a few feet behind the swing set.

               Sock obliged, floating to the trunk and thrusting one arm straight through it.

               “That is so cool!” Jonathan said. He looked around, then asked in a lowered voice, “Do you want to see something else that’s cool?”

               Sock shrugged. “Uh, sure.”

               “Come on,” Jonathan said, motioning to Sock to follow him. He led Sock away from the playground, towards the chain link fence that surrounded most of its perimeter. There, tucked away in the corner, was a dead squirrel. It lay on its back, arms outstretched toward the sky. Its belly had been torn open, leaving the contents exposed and drying in the hot sun. Jonathan stopped a couple of feet away from it. “There it is,” he said. “It’s dead.”

               Sock darted up and over Jonathan’s head and made a beeline for the squirrel. Still floating in the air, he brought his face mere inches from the carcass. “It sure is dead,” he agreed, unable to hide the rising tone in his voice.

               “I found it this morning. I think a cat got it. Pretty gross, huh?”

               Sock tried to poke at the dead thing. His fingers passed right through the exposed viscera, prompting a frown to form on his face. “Really gross,” he said. The grin slithered back onto his face as Sock turned around to face Jonathan, saying, “Really cool though. Wanna stick something in it?”

               Jonathan wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue. “Don’t be gross, Sock,” he said.

               Sock gave up trying to convince Jonathan to at least poke the squirrel with a stick after a few more tries and resolved to spend the rest of the day watching him play on the playground. Jonathan was content to whittle the hours away trying to accomplish his futile task of swinging all the way around. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that he gave up for the day. He pranced over to Sock, grabbed his hand, and yanked him away from the playground.

               Jonathan led the way down roads flanked by cookie cutter houses until he stopped in front of one of the houses. “This is my house,” he said. He ran up the driveway to the front door and flung it open with the force of a whirlwind. Once he had slipped inside, he slammed the door shut through Sock’s (thankfully non-corporeal) face. “Come on, Sock!” Jonathan said.

               A female voice called from the kitchen. “Jonathan, how many times do I have to tell you not to slam the door?”

               Sock passed through the door and found himself in a living room as generic as the houses outside. Tacky knick-knacks sat on end tables and pictures of Jonathan and his family hung from the wall. Sock couldn’t help but smile at one picture of Jonathan beaming proudly with a gap in his teeth and his hand outstretched. The missing tooth was clutched between his fingers.

               “Sorry mom!” Jonathan called. He looked back at Sock and said, “Come on!” Without waiting, he darted into the kitchen.

               Sock obediently followed, suspending himself in the air next to Jonathan. Jonathan’s mother stood at the counter, chopping up vegetables.

               Jonathan grabbed Sock’s hand and said, “Look mom! He’s my new friend!”

               Jonathan’s mother turned her head and looked at her son. Her eyes trailed down from his face, along Jonathan’s arm, all the way to his outstretched hand clutching at nothingness. “Oh, I see,” she said. “What’s your friend’s name?”

               “Sock!” Jonathan said, his smile becoming even wider.

               “Well you and Sock better get washed up. Dinner is almost ready,” she said.

               Jonathan started to say something to Sock, but Sock’s mind was elsewhere. Mephistopheles’ voice echoed in his head. _“Welcome to Hell. Would you like a hand?”_

               Jonathan’s tiny, dirty fingers remained latched onto Sock’s hand.


End file.
